


The Sheriff and the Outlaw

by iphus



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Historical AU, Original Character(s), Wild West AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 16:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15295419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphus/pseuds/iphus





	1. Chapter 1

Ella Cate leaned over her desk, examining the crisp poster, freshly sent from the nearest town. Bold letters across the top spelled out **NOTICE!** , under which the paper advertised **$500 REWARD** for the capture of “the kerchief bandit.” The middle of the page featured a sketch of a man with dark eyes, a wide-brim hat, and a kerchief covering most of his face.

“Kerchief bandit?” Ella Cate said with a scoff. “Who came up with that?”

Her deputy, newly eighteen and as skinny as a beanpole, shrugged his shoulders, apparently disinterested in the unimaginative moniker. Ella Cate sighed. It was hard to find a good deputy. The town had made her sheriff after her many positive contributions, but despite that, most men didn’t want to work for her. The same people who had readily accepted at her as deputy-turned-sheriff – after the last sheriff died in a shoot-out with an outlaw – balked at the idea of working for her.

“Whatcha gon’ do ‘bout him?” John, the deputy, asked.

“Catch him,” Ella Cate said, settling into her desk chair.

“Ketch ‘im? Sheriff Milligan, this man’s been all ovah an’ ain’t nobody even laid a finger on ‘im,” John said.

“You mean ‘and nobody has laid a finger on him,’” Ella Cate said, examining the sketch. There was little detail. Loose, sketchy lines and a generic face. If the bandit decided not to wear a hat and handkerchief, nobody would know who he was.

“Tha’s what I said.”

“No, you said ‘ain’t nobo-,’ never mind,” she mumbled. Some day she was going to have to learn to just ignore the little annoyances. That was the thing about moving from the East with a good education under your belt: the rules that had been drilled into your head no longer mattered.

“I heard he killed Sheriff Longmire,” John nodded matter-of-factly.

“That seems unlikely,” Ella Cate said. “I just received a letter from him dated a week ago.”

“Musta been the deputy,” he shrugged.

That was entirely possible. Ella Cate hadn’t actually read the letter yet. The envelope held the poster and a letter; her interest was immediately drawn to the wanted poster. She’d heard whispers about this Kerchief Bandit. He was hitting nearby towns, stealing from travelers, robbing the few banks that he could find. If the whispers were true, he’d be hitting Ella Cate’s town soon. She sighed and sat back to read Longmire’s letter.

John was right that someone had died. He was right that it was a deputy. He just got the town wrong. The bandit’s bullet had caught a deputy in the shoulder, a non-fatal wound, until it got infected. He’d died in the early morning shortly after.

Other accounts spoke of the bandit catching people on the road, robbing them of valuables, and riding off. Just one man. Not a gang. One man causing all this strife.

Ella Cate ground her teeth. She’d be damned if she didn’t catch this son of a bitch. The disregard for hard-earned money and other people’s lives churned a rage inside her. A hot sea of fury. Burning waves dashing against the walls of her belly. She didn’t care about any reward. This man was a criminal and needed to be caught.

* * *

 

The next few days were spent prepping the town for the bandit’s coming. A plan was made, back-up plans formulated. Ella Cate lost sleep trying to figure the best way to catch this man. She would _not_ let him slip through her fingers. No man would harm her town. She was sheriff for a reason.

John complained during much of the process, insisting that there was no way to catch this guy. Great sheriffs – in other words, _male_ sheriffs – had tried and failed to ensnare him. People died from the wounds he inflicted. One man doing so much damage.

“No man kin ketch ‘im,” John said, following Ella Cate like a lost dog. Hadn’t she given him a job to do? Away from her?

“Lucky for me, then,” she said, grunting as she pushed a piece of wood into place.

“What?” John asked with a stupid frown. Someday she’d find a deputy who didn’t strike every last nerve. Not today. But someday.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Ella Cate asked.

“Uh, do I?” John asked. Ella Cate looked pointedly at him, until he got the message that he was not wanted. “Oh, right!” he said. “I’m sure I got somethin’ to do. I’ll go.”

About time. Ella Cate sighed. She seemed to be sighing a lot these days. Being a sheriff could be great work when it wasn’t waiting for the town drunks to sober up in lock-up, listening to sneers and lewd jests about her bosom or vagina. The job had been more rewarding a few years ago, when she was newly Sheriff. An accomplishment. A capable, respected, woman sheriff.

Where had the respect gone? Quiet times made her lose her standing. What use was a lady sheriff who spoiled fun by breaking up bar fights?

This Kerchief Bandit was just what she needed. A motivation. A chance to show the town why she was sheriff. Something to keep her mind occupied on the nights when coyote howls kept her restless.

“Kerchief Bandit,” Ella Cate muttered. “It sounds like he steals kerchiefs.”

She stomped up the porch steps to the sheriff’s building, tracking dried dirt onto the wooden planks. Grabbing her twin pistols and a shotgun, she settled on the porch, ready to wait out another long night.

* * *

 

The Kerchief Bandit didn’t show up that night. Or the night after. A week and a half passed, and Ella Cate was getting restless. The town was getting restless. Had they wasted time on Ella Cate’s security measures? Did this bandit even exist?

A glass of whiskey sat on the crate beside Ella Cate, barely touched. Just a sip or two to keep her awake until dawn, when she could crash into bed and sleep for four hours before starting the day again. Somewhere, far off, howling pierced the silence, wailing to the moon and the stars. The night air was warm, cooler than during the day. Pleasant. Ella Cate was chewing on a thick splinter of wood when an unfamiliar noise met her ears.

She tensed, listened. The _screhhhh_ and _chnk chnk_ of scrap metal hitting against wood and other shards of metal. One of Ella Cate’s security measures. There was no wind, not even a hint of a breeze. This could be another animal, like it was three nights before, but something in her bones told her it wasn’t. A chill ran through her, followed by the heat of adrenaline. This was her atmosphere. This is when she got to enjoy herself.

Stepping lightly against the dirt, bare feet silent against the ground, she crept toward the noise. There was no horse, no animal, no possible means of transportation in sight. The bandit must have travelled on foot. That seemed risky, but it would be the quietest way of getting around.

Eyes long-adjusted to the darkness, Ella Cate quickly made out the silhouette of a man. Bundled in layers, too many layers for the heat, he stood in the darkness. What was he doing? Ella Cate took one step closer, not making any noise. She was five paces away now. She was glad she had her shotgun; it could make up the space between them, minimize the number of steps she needed to take.

The form stiffened, shoulders tensing. The slight movement urged Ella Cate forward, so the barrel of the shotgun sat between the man’s shoulder blades.

“Don’t try anythin’,” Ella Cate warned. “I’m not alone and this gun is loaded. Now, I’d rather bring you in alive, but if you try anythin’, I ain’t afraid to shoot.” _Ain’t?_ Since when did she say ain’t? This town was getting to her.

She thought she heard a laugh from the man, as soft as a gentle breeze. She was prepared when he turned; she predicted that he’d go for the shotgun barrel, knock it out of her hand. Maybe before he’d even started to turn, she lifted the barrel before he got the chance, like she knew his intentions just by the way his breath mingled with the night air. As she raised the butt of the gun, she rammed the heel of her foot into his knee, followed by a strike to the temple with her shotgun.

Pointing the weapon at him, she said, “I said, don’t try anythin’. You best listen, or you’ll have worse than that comin’ your way.”

There was something about those dark eyes that made Ella Cate wary. Calculated, unpredictable. This man was no easy match. She prepared herself for another attack, assessing the ways he could jump up or swing at her legs.

Perhaps he read something in her eyes, just as dangerous, because he spread his arms wide, surrendering.

“Get’up,” she said, the gun still trained on him. He did as she asked with slow movements. As soon as he was on his feet, she pulled out one of her pistols and pressed it against his head. She leaned the shotgun against the nearby wall and grabbed his arm, wrenching it behind him. The other arm followed, pistol now pressing against his back.

“Don’t,” she warned, as she sensed him coiling to spring. He relaxed, defeated. Quickly – she’d been practicing every day at John’s expense – she wrapped a rope around his wrists, securing the knot.

“Now, just do as I say,” Ella Cate said, maneuvering the bandit toward the sheriff’s station. He cooperated, though Ella Cate was sure the man could get out of this situation. At least he could with most people. She didn’t train every day for a man to get the best of her. Maybe he could tell that she was a match for him.

The man faltered at the porch steps and glanced up at the burning lamp, before letting Ella Cate shove him through the door. He seemed tense in the light. Uncomfortable. She had to be careful. You never knew what could happen with a trapped animal.

“Get up, John!” Ella Cate hollered. The man – boy, really – jumped awake, leaping out of his chair. Drooping eyes widened when he saw her cargo.

“Well, I’ll be, Sheriff Milligan! Is that the Kerchi’f Bandit?” he gaped.

The bandit snorted and mumbled something. Ella Cate chose to ignore him.

“Yes, now get up and search him. He’s sure to have weapons on him,” she said. John nodded dumbly but as he stepped forward, a new voice interrupted.

“Wait,” the bandit said. Voice both husky and soft. Like a hot stream washing against gravel. “I would rather you do it.” He tilted his head toward Ella Cate.

This smelled like a trap. Ella Cate narrowed her eyes but decided that she probably should be the one to search for weapons. If this _was_ a trap, it was better for her to handle it than for John to. She nodded and turned the man.

“John, get your gun and keep it on ‘im. Got it?” Ella Cate said. John couldn’t be trusted with much in her opinion, but there was no denying that he knew his way around a gun. There was little to no risk of him accidentally firing a shot.

Ella Cate patted the bandit’s calves, thighs, hips. Butt, groin – she didn’t feel _anything_ there. He wore no shoes, so she didn’t need to check those. Waist, torso, back. Under the scarf that covered his shirt. Suddenly, she tensed. Aware that her deputy was watching, she continued her search as if nothing had happened. But, something had happened. And for some reason, she didn’t want to let John know.

Under the bandit’s scarf, there were unmistakable curves. The curves of breasts. Lady breasts. Ella Cate’s eyes met the bandit’s, and in those dark eyes, she saw pleading. Pleading to say nothing.

Ella Cate finished her search, confiscating knives, a few arrowheads, anything sharp or thin. After dumping them into a pile on her desk, she directed the bandit into a cell. Her head was in a whirl, considering, thinking, wondering. The bandit, the notorious bandit, was a _woman_. Why did that surprise her? Surely if a woman could be a sheriff, a woman could be an outlaw. But, Ella Cate expected better of her sex. A woman thieving and murdering. The idea made her blood run cold.

She couldn’t wrap her mind around the concept of a female bandit. Men were outlaws. Filthy, unruly, vile, cruel. Those descriptors didn’t match her idea of women. She was easier on women. She couldn’t help it. But, this was too unusual for her to grasp. The attributes she afforded outlaws didn’t line up with her perception of the bandit now sitting in a cell. The woman, the bandit, didn’t seem like a cold-blooded, gold-digging outlaw. Even if the bandit had been a man…but, was Ella Cate being honest with herself? Would she have noticed the civility of the bandit if she was a man? Would she have separated her from the typical outlaw class? She didn’t know.

John’s voice brought her back to herself. “Whatta we gonna do with him?” he asked.

Ella Cate cleared her throat, “I’ll report this to the nearest U.S. Marshal. They’ll take he-him off our hands.”

“Alright, Sheriff,” John said. “You did a real good thing. Gittin’ a dirty criminal behind bars. A real good thing.”

“Thank you, deputy,” Ella Cate said, bowing her head awkwardly. The atmosphere was uncomfortable. Heavy, uncertain. John stood, facing her, saying nothing. She realized he wanted directions. “Oh, uh,” she said. “You go on and get some rest, John. I’ll keep watch over h-him tonight.”

“Yes’m,” John said. “Goodnight, Sheriff. You be safe, now.” Ella Cate nodded, her eyes following him across the room. When the door swung shut, her gaze snapped to the prisoner.

The bandit was laying on the old straw mattress on the cell bench, one knee bent, the other swinging off the side. Her arms were folded behind her head. Nonchalant. Unbothered. Her lack of concern for her situation unnerved Ella Cate. Something felt wrong. There was more to this; there had to be.

Ella Cate settled in her chair, facing the cell. Her mind wandered but part of her brain stayed focused on the prisoner. Thoughts teemed and reeled, trying to make sense of this, trying to reconcile this development.

A rustling from the cell. Ella Cate looked up. The bandit was sitting on the edge of the bench now, looking at Ella Cate. Unnerving. Those dark eyes that said so much buy said nothing that Ella Cate could understand.

“Thank you,” the bandit said. “For not saying anything.”

Ella Cate nodded, awkward, uncomfortable. She wouldn’t have said anything even if she hadn’t seen that pleading look in her eyes. Dark brown eyes. The world was dangerous for a woman. If Ella Cate had reacted, said anything, would John have kept the secret? She couldn’t take the risk. There would be trouble if the word was spread. A woman in a vulnerable position had more to worry about than a man. More danger.

The bandit didn’t try to make small talk. She didn’t leer, sneer, or taunt Ella Cate, which was more than could be said about the cell’s previous occupants. After she got as comfortable as one could be on a thin straw mattress on top of a metal bench, the room fell silent. The only sound was Ella Cate’s fidgeting and distant, eerie howls. The bandit was so quiet, she seemed to disappear. Every time Ella Cate’s gaze turned that way, she half-expected the cell to be empty.

Waiting through the hours until dawn was tense and slow. By the time John reentered the room, Ella Cate was stiff and cramping from staying as still as possible for hours. Moving felt sinful in that quiet place, like the devil lurked behind every corner, and to breathe too loudly was to reveal yourself. After hours of uneasy silence, the human noises John made were jarring. Clomping boots, sniffling, the brush of pant leg against pant leg.

Ella Cate didn’t like leaving the watch to John, but she needed sleep. The skin under her eyes had turned purple. Her body was made of sludge. Blinking was one step away from sleep. When she fell onto her bed in her room above the jail, sleep took her immediately.


	2. Chapter 2

Ella Cate slept for longer than she meant to. It was nearing eleven when she woke up. Mid-day. The sun was already high in the sky, slicing through the old, rickety shutters. As her thoughts turned to consciousness, she jerked awake, remembering the prisoner in the cell downstairs. Emotion after emotion hit her: anxiety about the situation, fear that the prisoner had escaped, fear that John was doing a terrible job of watching her – the reminder that the bandit was indeed a woman, a shock. Ella Cate practically ran to the bedroom door.

The jailhouse was quiet. John was sitting with his feet up on the desk, tossing a ball in the air. The bandit was still lying on the bench, soundless.

“Why didn’t you wake me, deputy?” she asked, frowning. John looked up.

“Thought yeh could use some sleep, Sheriff. Yeh’ve been workin’ mighty hard. Though’ yeh could use a break,” he said, the words flowing slowly.

Ella Cate just scowled, “Has the bandit eaten?”

“No’m,” John said. “He’s been like that since yeh went to bed.”

“Run an’ get some food, deputy,” she said. “An’ make sure you get some for me. I’m starved.”

John nodded and hopped up from his seat, moving swiftly out the door. Ella Cate leaned against the desk and stared at the cell. She cleared her throat.

“Have you replaced yourself with a pile of rags and escaped?” she asked. There was no response for a moment and Ella Cate worried that her joke was actually true. The bandit may have slipped out right under John’s nose.

But, then there was a movement. The bandit breathed in heavily and slowly sat up. Dark brown eyes looked through the cell bars, looked through Ella Cate’s soul. Ella Cate’s breath caught, and she told herself to knock it off. She couldn’t afford to have her guard down.

“Not yet,” the bandit said, eyes drifting to the wall of her cell.

“Well, don’t plan on it,” Ella Cate said. “I won’ let you get away that easy.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she said, voice quiet and soft, distant.

The jailhouse door banged open, followed by John with his arms full of food, boots clomping loudly. Could he do anything without sounding like a herd of wild horses? He placed the food on the desk.

“Sheriff, er, there’s some folk ou’side wan’in to know ‘bout the pris’ner,” he said.

Ella Cate nearly growled. Of course there were. John must’ve said something when he was getting food. And soon the whole town would know. They’d want to come into the jailhouse, parade in front of the cell, sneer at the bandit like she was the best entertainment in years. Unfortunately, she probably was the best entertainment in years.

Grumbling to herself, Ella Cate tore a chunk of bread and grabbed a strip of dried beef. She wrapped the food in a piece of burlap, poured a small tin can with water, and walked to the cell.

“Somethin’ to eat,” Ella Cate said, holding both through the bars, not letting her hands go far enough in to make her vulnerable. The bandit stood and took the food without comment.

Ella Cate gnawed on a piece of dried beef and some bread as well, before getting up to deal with the crowd outside. A small group had gathered, small but large enough to be a nuisance. She convinced them to leave, that the bandit was too dangerous to even look at. However, she let Mrs. Jones come into the jailhouse. She was carrying a basket of eggs, her excuse to get inside. Ella Cate knew it was an excuse, but she also knew Mrs. Jones’ status as a town gossip, whose stories were true, though exaggerated. The town would want proof of the bandit. Proof that Ella Cate had caught him. No better way to keep the town entertained than let Mrs. Jones loose onto them, letting her spread stories to keep everyone scared and in awe.

Town members knew as well as Ella Cate did that Mrs. Jones stories were exaggerated. They also knew that some version of the truth was buried in there somewhere. They trusted her word, but not enough to act on it. Ella Cate didn’t have to worry about a mob gathering to kill the bandit themselves.

Ella Cate shut the door behind Mrs. Jones with a sigh. So many sighs lately. She patted John’s shoulder and sent him home to get some rest. They’d have to take shifts watching the bandit. Ella Cate knew she’d take any chance to escape.

“I need the cup back,” Ella Cate said to the bandit, holding out her hand.

The bandit glanced at the cup on the floor. Her eyes sparkled, amused, laughing at the corners. “You think I’ll escape using the cup?” she asked.

“Not a chance I’m willing to take,” Ella Cate said. The bandit handed over the empty cup.

The day moved sluggishly. The heat hung still in the air, no breeze to stir it up. Every window in the jailhouse was open, but, without any wind, it made no difference. A fly buzzed past Ella Cate slowly. Ella Cate didn’t bother to swing at it. The fly felt as sluggish as she did. At some point, she had to unbutton the top buttons of her shirt, for the smallest bit of relief.

The bandit seemed unbothered. She sat on the floor in her layers of scarves and skins. She didn’t even remove her hat. There was no hint of sluggishness from her. Her dark eyes drank in the room, observing each inch as if she could learn the jailhouse’s entire history from the marks in the wood.

“You want anymore water?” Ella Cate asked. The woman was a criminal, but that didn’t mean Ella Cate wouldn’t show her some common decency. Especially in this heat.

The bandit’s eyes fixed on her, bemused, “Do you treat all prisoners this well?” She held her hand out for the water cup.

“Wouldn’t be right to let you die before the U.S. Marshals get here,” Ella Cate said gruffly. The words _just the pretty ones stuck in her throat_. She silently chided herself for even thinking about flirting.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just kill me?” she asked. Dark brown eyes. So much in the eyes. They pierced through Ella Cate.

“That’s not my job,” Ella Cate said. “If I kill someone in a struggle, that’s one thing. But to kill because it’d be easier? That’s not right.” She didn’t meet the bandit’s eyes as she spoke, instead looking at the scuffs on her boots. She felt naked when the bandit looked at her. Uncomfortable. Vulnerable.

There was silence. When Ella Cate did look up, the bandit was looking at her, taking her apart and piecing her back together, trying to figure her out. Ella Cate got goosebumps. To get the sharp eyes to stop scrutinizing her, she spoke.

“I suppose you probably will be killed in the long run,” Ella Cate said. “You can’t get away with murdering people.” She adjusted the inkwell on the desk.

“Don’t forget about theft,” the bandit said. The words were a jest, but they weren’t spoken like one. A lifetime of heaviness and sadness was packed into them. Ella Cate looked up again, surprised. The bandit was looking away with a distant gaze.

Ella Cate shoved her curiosity away, smothered the feeling that something wasn’t right. The bandit was probably remorseful because she’d been caught. Nothing more to it than that.

“Perhaps you should’ve considered the consequences more,” Ella Cate said. “No one can run from the law forever.”

“Do you believe that?” the bandit asked. “That you can’t run from the law forever?”

“Yes, I do,” Ella Cate said.

The bandit said something too quiet for Ella Cate to hear. Why did she seem so sad? Why did Ella Cate care that she seemed sad? She was a criminal. It wasn’t Ella Cate’s fault she was regretting her decisions.

They lapsed into silence. Outside of the jail, the town was alive with sound. Slow hammering, the clip-clop of hooves, horses braying, friendly greetings, wood creaking. Sounds of every day. There might be a bandit in the jailhouse, but otherwise, this was just another ordinary day.

When Ella Cate supped, she gave the bandit more food. As the woman took the scanty meal, she looked into Ella Cate’s eyes.

“I’ve never wanted to kill,” she said. Her tone was grave, like she was unwillingly delivering a death sentence.

Ella Cate felt her throat tighten, her heart stretch toward the bandit. Then the connection snapped, and she recoiled, disgusted. Never wanting to kill didn’t change the fact that she had killed. Killed innocents. Blood was on her hands.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have done it,” Ella Cate said, her tone biting. She wasn’t going to sympathize with a murderer.

If the bandit hadn’t been wearing the navy kerchief over her nose and mouth, Ella Cate was sure she would’ve seen her face fall, like she’d endured a reprimand from a beloved mentor. She looked away from Ella Cate, down at the food in her hands. Ella Cate almost wanted to take back the harshness of her words. Almost. _She’s still a murderer,_ she told herself.

John took over standing guard after the bandit fell asleep, giving Ella Cate time to rest. But, sleep didn’t come so easily. She couldn’t stop thinking about the heaviness in the bandit’s voice. The years of ache, regrets, suffering wrapped up in those words. And the look she gave when Ella Cate showed no sympathy. The look of loss. The knowledge that she would find no comfort in Ella Cate.

But why would she have wanted Ella Cate’s comfort? What did Ella Cate’s opinion matter to her? Prisoners before her had tried to get Ella Cate’s sympathy, but they were so obvious and insincere. Foolish attempts to take advantage of a woman’s “soft side.” The bandit in that cell now was so genuine. She wasn’t lying or trying to get on Ella Cate’s good side just to escape.

That’s what Ella Cate’s gut told her. But, the rational part of her brain reminded her that this woman was a criminal. She would do anything to get what she wanted. She could play Ella Cate like a fiddle. Ella Cate couldn’t let herself fall for the tricks.

* * *

 

When Ella Cate got up the next morning, the bandit was sitting up, her back to John. As soon as John left, however, she turned and faced Ella Cate. She took her food without comment then settled on the floor.

Yesterday, she’d turned away while she ate, sneaking the food under her kerchief. To Ella Cate’s astonishment, she took the kerchief off today, folding it into a triangle that she draped over her leg. She took her hat off, as well as the scarf that wrapped around her head. Why? Ella Cate was baffled.

She was somehow both plain and pretty. Her features seemed native, much darker than most in this town. Red canyon skin, dark brown eyes, the same dark brown as her hair. Dark enough to be nearly black. Dark, low brows. Round face, full lips. A narrow nose. Her hair was parted down the middle, split into two braids that disappeared under her scarf. Her beauty was natural, unexaggerated. Like the earth around here. The true beauty was hidden unless you stopped to look for it.

Ella Cate realized she was staring when the bandit looked up. She quickly looked away. When she dared sneak another glance, the bandit was staring at her. Her dark eyes weren’t as unnerving when Ella Cate could see the rest of her face, but they still pierced through everything they saw.

“Why didn’t you tell your deputy I’m a woman?” the bandit asked. Her voice startled Ella Cate, who was lost in her own head.

Ella Cate cleared her throat, giving herself a second to form a coherent response. “I wasn’t sure I could trust him to keep it a secret,” she said. “Less of a hassle if no one knows.”

“People will know eventually.”

“Yeah, but by that time, you’ll be off my hands,” Ella Cate said. Her stomach flipped. Why did the idea of that make her feel sick? The bandit would receive worse treatment as a female prisoner, more abuse. But, it was more than that. Deep down, Ella Cate believed the bandit didn’t deserve any of what was to come.

Ella Cate still couldn’t figure out whether her reluctance to criminalize the bandit was because she was easier on women or because she really believed that the bandit didn’t have a cruel heart. She wasn’t like other prisoners she’d held. But, could she really compare? All the past prisoners had been men.

By the time John took over guard-duty, the bandit had her kerchief and hat back on, assuming the role of a man. She was asleep on the straw mattress when Ella Cate went to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

The days passed uneventfully as Ella Cate awaited response from the U.S. Marshals. Each day made Ella Cate more unsure, more anxious. The interactions she had with the bandit were calm, lacking aggression or anger. That wasn’t Ella Cate’s experience with past prisoners, but again, the bandit was a woman. She seemed resigned to her fate, though Ella Cate thought she fidgeted more as the days progressed. A restlessness took hold of her and she frequently glanced at the tiny window at the top of the cell.

The morning of the sixth day, Ella Cate found out why. As usual, the bandit was sitting in the cell when she relieved John of guard duty. The restlessness had grown. She wasn’t eerily still; her leg was bouncing, and her eyes were fixed on the window. When John left and Ella Cate brought her food, she jumped up. The energy coming from her was frightening. A dust storm. Lightning. Ella Cate cautiously held the food out to her and the bandit grasped Ella Cate’s in hers. Ella Cate’s first reaction was to tense and pull back, but the grasp was gentle. A friend wishing you well before a journey. An old lover begging for forgiveness. Rough hands with a soft touch.

“Sheriff Milligan,” the bandit said. Ella Cate’s name in her mouth sent a shiver through her. The name was breathy and desperate. The thought of her breathing her name in a different setting flitted across Ella Cate’s mind.

“What is it?” Ella Cate asked. Demanded. The words had come out sharper than she intended. The bandit’s dark eyes were wide, fearful, anxious. The look made Ella Cate’s blood run cold, made her want to crawl under a rock. Whatever could scare this woman must be terrifying.

“Sheriff Milligan,” she said again. Ella Cate needed her to stop. Her knees felt weak. “You need to let me go.”

Ella Cate pulled her hand away, crashing into reality. Typical. The prisoners always grew more desperate as their time ran out. They’d beg and barter. Try any trick in the book. She turned her back to the cell.

“Sheriff Milligan,” she said, desperation rising. “There are people coming for me. Dangerous people. You need to let me go.”

Ella Cate snorted and turned back to her, “You think you’re the first person in your position to say that?”

She was the first to say it with that look. A look that prophesized the end of the world, foretold the downfall of mankind. Desperate, pleading. Begging for a way out. There was no smugness, no sneering. Sincere. Sincerely afraid.

“I know I’m not,” the bandit said. “But, I’m not lying to you. You’re no fool, Sheriff Milligan, I know that. Which is why you need to let me go.”

Ella Cate pressed her lips together and crossed her arms. She could stand her ground. She would stand her ground.

“People are coming for me,” the bandit whispered.

“Why would you tell me this?” Ella Cate asked. “Why give us any forewarning to prepare? If there were people coming, it would be self-sabotage to tell us.”

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the bars. “Because,” she said. “You don’t deserve to be hurt by them. Neither does your deputy. And if the townspeople are anything like the two of you, they don’t deserve it either.” Her voice dropped low, small, “You don’t know what they’ll do.”

Ella Cate felt sick. Her mind kept trying to rationalize, make sense of this, criminalize the bandit. Any logic was overpowered by instinct. The bandit was telling the truth. She knew that. She’d known something was off from the beginning.

“I’ve seen a lot of people die,” the bandit said, barely above a whisper. “I’ve killed a lot of people. I don’t want you to be one of them. _Please_.” She wasn’t begging for her life, she was begging for Ella Cate’s life.

Impulsively, Ella Cate stepped forward, holding the bandit’s hand the same way the bandit had grasped hers moments earlier.

“When are they coming?” Ella Cate asked. “Who are they?

“They won’t have left yet,” the bandit said. “I’m supposed to be at the meeting point by sunset today. If I’m not there, they’ll give me a day to show up. And if I don’t…”

“If you don’t,” Ella Cate prompted.

“There won’t be a town left to protect,” she said. The finality was a death sentence. She wasn’t the executioner, but she had to deliver the sentence.

“Who are they?” Ella Cate asked again. “Do you work for them?”

The bandit shook her head, refusing to answer.

“Do you want to go back to them?” Ella Cate wondered. She knew the answer. Her heart ached. Things were making sense. The heaviness that had been in the bandit’s voice. The fear. She didn’t need to tell Ella Cate that this wasn’t the life she wanted to live. Ella Cate knew. She’d known since the beginning.

“I don’t have a choice,” she said.

“There’s always a choice.”

“I won’t choose to run,” she whispered. “If I do, I’ll live the rest of my life on the run, and I’ll know that because of me, people were brutally massacred.”

For days this woman had been looking into Ella Cate’s soul. Now, Ella Cate looked back. Looked into those unnerving brown eyes and saw sorrow, fear, suffering. Ferocity, strength, perseverance. Compassion. Heartbreak. If she could, Ella Cate would make the world stop turning for her.

“I would’ve escaped and avoided all of this,” she said. “You wouldn’t have to make this decision.” She laughed bitterly, “But you were thorough. You searched me, took all my belongings, kept watch, and I’m sure you have some type of warning outside to tell you someone has escaped.”

“I have to be thorough,” Ella Cate said.

“I know,” she said softly.

They stayed quiet for a moment, Ella Cate with her head pressed against the cell bars, letting herself hurt and feel. Then, she steeled herself, ready to put a plan into action.

“Okay,” Ella Cate said. “We’ll have to get you out of the town without anyone seeing. Let me think.”

The plan was worked out in the next hour. The bandit would leave town on foot; she was sure she could sneak out without anyone noticing her, even in broad daylight. Ella Cate would follow by horse, bringing a second with her. The bandit escaped, and she was going after him. They would travel the rest of the day on horseback. They would need to camp for the night; it was too dangerous for Ella Cate to ride back home in the dark, by herself. In the morning, they would part ways, Ella Cate taking both horses back to town, where she would confess that she hadn’t been able to catch the bandit again.

Ella Cate released the bandit from the cell and waited a half hour before following. As she was on her way out the door, John walked in. His eyes widened at the empty cell, but he accepted Ella Cate’s story that the bandit had bested her and now she was on her way to find him.

“I’ll come with yeh, Sheriff Milligan,” John said. “Yeh shouldn’ go after a dangerous outlaw like that by yeh’self.”

“No, deputy. I need you to stay here. He escaped under my watch, so I’ll deal with it,” Ella Cate insisted.

John looked reluctant to let her go, but he saw her off with a concerned, “You be careful now, Sheriff.”

Ella Cate rode fast, nearly passing the spot where the bandit waited. If she hadn’t called out, Ella Cate wouldn’t have seen her. The bandit swung her leg over the other horse and they set off at a trot. Ella Cate let the bandit lead, since she had no idea what direction they need to go.

“Thank you, Sheriff Milligan,” she said. “You’re doing a good thing.”

Ella Cate scowled, not knowing how else to respond to the thanks. Uncomfortable with the gratitude and formality, she said, “You don’t need to call me Sheriff Milligan. You can call me Ella Cate.”

The bandit smiled at her. Her mouth was covered by her kerchief, but the corners of her eyes crinkled, and her eyes sparkled. A smile that turned Ella Cate to jelly. “A pretty name for a pretty lady,” she said. Well, _fuck_. Ella Cate’s heart beat quickened in response to the compliment.

“What should I call you?” Ella Cate said. She hoped the bandit didn’t hear her voice waver. “I’ve been calling you ‘the bandit’ in my head.”

She laughed, “Better than the Kerchief Bandit.” Ella Cate laughed too, her body tingling and filling with happiness. When was the last time she’d laughed? Truly laughed?

“I have lots of names,” the bandit said. “But, I don’t want you to call me any of them.” The heaviness bogged down her words again. Ella Cate wanted to reach out and grab her hand. Take the hurt away.

“Come up with something new,” Ella Cate suggested.

The bandit considered so long that Ella Cate thought maybe she’d forgotten. Or maybe she didn’t want Ella Cate to call her anything. Then, she said, “I like the name Shiloh.”

“Shiloh,” Ella Cate repeated. “I think that fits.”


	4. Chapter 4

The sun sat low against the canvas of the sky, brilliant oranges, pinks, and purples, complementing the browns and reds of the earth. The women stopped at a stream at the mouth of a canyon. The water shimmered an iridescent orange, sending off golden sparks as the horses lowered their heads to drink.

After pulling away her kerchief, Shiloh cupped water in her palms and splashed her face. She rolled up her sleeves and scrubbed her arms, then her feet and ankles. She was in the process of rolling up her pant legs when she looked up, glancing at Ella Cate, who was patting her horse’s neck.

“I’m going to go for a swim,” she said. Ella Cate nodded and then turned her head away, hiding her blush as Shiloh stripped away her layers.

A series of splashes as Shiloh walked into the stream. The stream was deeper than it appeared, but still didn’t reach much higher than her waist. After a moment, Ella Cate snuck a glance. The bandit was unweaving her braids, her dark brown hair falling over her shoulders. Ella Cate stood several feet away, but even from that distance she could see scars marking Shiloh’s skin. Her throat tightened.

Then, Shiloh looked at her. Her hair covered her breasts, thank God. Ella Cate wasn’t sure she could’ve handled seeing the curves of her body. The sweet smile on her lips was bad enough; Ella Cate was parched.

“You should join me,” Shiloh said.

“I…I don’t know,” Ella Cate said. She wanted to. She really wanted to.

Ella Cate had spent her life resisting these unnatural urges. The urges that had caused her to move out west in the first place. Rumors spread in her town. Rumors of her love affair. The cold looks, the disgusted looks, the angry looks, they were too much to bear. Ella Cate ran before anyone become violent.

And now…now, after years of pretending those urges didn’t exist, not tempted by anyone, Ella Cate was being torn apart by a stranger. An outlaw, no less. Torn apart by dark eyes that read her like a book.

“The water is nice,” Shiloh said. “Not too hot, not too cold.”

Damned brown eyes. The gaze of those dark brown eyes destroyed Ella Cate’s self-control. She stepped out of her boots.

The water was as Shiloh described: not too hot, not too cold. The temperature wasn’t homogenous. A step to the side put Ella Cate in a cold patch, two more steps and she was surrounded by warmth. She kept a fair distance from Shiloh, inconspicuously covering her breasts.

The distance was ineffective. Shiloh moved closer to her, fascinated by the freckles that speckled her skin. Ella Cate’s face burned as Shiloh examined her shoulder.

“Some horses have spots like this,” Shiloh said. “But not so many. I didn’t know people could be speckled.”

Ella Cate said nothing. Shiloh’s finger brushed against her skin. A lightning strike, shocking any coherent thoughts out of her head.

Then, Shiloh moved away again. Ella Cate was relieved. And she wanted her to come back.

As Shiloh cupped water in her hands and poured it over her body, Ella Cate couldn’t keep her eyes away from her back. There were scars that had to be from whips. Repeated, thin, deep. Thicker scars, probably from blades. There were far fewer of those. But, the one that stood out the most was above her left shoulder blade.

The lines of the scar were shaped, deliberate, formed an overlapping W and R inside of a sun. A symbol that wasn’t unfamiliar. Ella Cate’s blood turned cold and she stepped toward Shiloh unthinkingly. Shiloh didn’t flinch when fingertips brushed against the scar.

“This is who’d come for you,” she said hoarsely.

“Yes,” Shiloh said, voice quiet and sorrowful.

“Why?” Ella Cate asked. Her arm was shaking. Horror and disbelief surged through her. She pulled back, clutching her hands to her chest. “Why would you…?” Her voice trailed off, the weight of the unfinished question heavy between them.

“I did what I needed to survive,” Shiloh said. She turned, meeting the fear in Ella Cate’s eyes. “I was an orphan. Alone. They gave me a family and food.”

Ella Cate took a step back, throwing ripples through the stream. She toed at the rocky bottom, absently turning over a small stone. Shiloh’s story was so much worse than Ella Cate ever could’ve guessed when she first saw her. That night seemed decades ago. The night when she’d seen the bandit under the light of the moon, eyes fixed on the distance. She’d stood so still, lost in thought, making it relatively easy to capture her.

The Wind Riders. A notorious outlaw group. No, worse than outlaws. The rumors that circled them made them out to be demons escaped from hell, bringing their cruelty to the West. They stole children from their homes, twisted the children into evil creatures, sent them to kill people they once loved. They burned down entire towns, looting and pillaging all the while. They raped and tortured. Shiloh wasn’t a thief and a murderer. She was the devil incarnate.

Ella Cate was trembling. How could she see anything good in this girl? Her heart was burning, flushing her skin, marking her soul. To think, she had started to pine for her. Disgusting. Abhorrent. Horrifying.

“Please, Ella Cate,” Shiloh said, lightly touching Ella Cate’s forearm. A voice that surrounded Ella Cate like a hot bath, inviting, comforting. With the slight husk, rocks tumbling through a stream. Ella Cate wanted to fall into that voice, let it drown her. How could this woman be a Wind Rider?

“They tempted me,” Shiloh said. Urgent. “I had nothing. I would’ve done anything for new clothes and some food.”

“But…Wind Riders?”

“I didn’t know who they were,” she said. “I was new to the area. If I could do it over again, I would run away the moment I set eyes on them.” The words were tumbling out desperately now. The dam broke and Shiloh couldn’t stop the flood. A flood of words she’d never spoken aloud. “They were good to me. By the time I realized who they were – by the time I realized, it was too late. Leaving was a death sentence. I considered dying multiple times. It seemed more honorable than staying with them. But, I’d survived for so long; I wanted to hold out until I could get away. I still do. I want my own life. My own life on this earth, not a life in the next world.

“I don’t want to do what they do. The killing just to kill, the stealing just to steal. Standing by while women are raped in front of their children. While children slain in front of their mothers. It’s awful, Ella Cate. It makes me sick. And the amount of blood I have on my hands…perhaps I was never as cruel as they were, never as heartless. I killed quickly and as painlessly as possible. But I still killed. People have died by hand. Because, if I didn’t do as I was told, there worse fates for me. Worse than death.”

Ella Cate considered herself knowledgeable. Knowledgeable enough to make her way in the world and protect herself and others. More knowledgeable than many she’d met out West. Listening to Shiloh, she decided she didn’t know anything. She didn’t know what it was like to survive in such a beastly environment. She didn’t know what her own feelings meant. People could do terrible things and still be good people? The idea tore the foundation of Ella Cate’s morals as a sheriff to shreds. Even harder to reconcile, she could care for someone who had done such awful things.

Maybe she was naïve to believe that Shiloh was a good person. It really seemed like she was. In her time in the jail cell, she hadn’t been abrasive or violent. Even when she’d fought Ella Cate that first night, she’d used a disarming move. A move to get away. And she’d touched Ella Cate so gently. Held her hand like it was the most delicate thing in the world. Now, her hand was on Ella Cate’s arm like she was reaching out to caress a day-old foal. Like Ella Cate was something precious.

Ella Cate ached. Ached as she tried to hold out, convince herself that a Wind Rider couldn’t have redeeming qualities. Ached as she fought against her affection, her sympathy. She resisted the urge to collapse against Shiloh, feel Shiloh’s arms wrap around her to comfort her as she reconciled these new feelings and contradictions.

“They’ve hurt you,” Ella Cate said.

“More than I can ever say,” Shiloh said. “Because of them, my life isn’t mine.”

A hot tear streaked down Ella Cate’s cheek. Everything she was feeling was overwhelming. Trembling, she took Shiloh’s hand in hers and brought it to her lips. She closed her eyes. Let the world stop existing for just a moment. Only exist in this moment, with Shiloh so close to her. Pretend that things weren’t so complicated.

She sighed and let go of Shiloh’s hand. Dark blue was seeping into the sky, bringing in the night. Ella Cate muttered about needing to get a fire started and sloshed out of the stream. She tugged her clothes on, not bothering to take the time to dry off.

The air was tense. Maybe it wasn’t for Shiloh, but it sure was for Ella Cate. She didn’t want to say anything. She couldn’t open herself up and let Shiloh in. It would be too painful.

They ate in silence, sitting on the ground near the fire. Ella Cate could feel Shiloh watching her; when she looked up, those dark eyes would be on her, curious, pained. It was too much to bear. Ella Cate needed this night to be over, so she could go home and try to forget about this. She’d probably be out of a job. Being a female sheriff meant feeling like her job was always on the line. A failure as a female sheriff probably meant she’d be kicked out of the position.

The temperature fell as night blanketed the heavens in a deep navy blue. Not too cold. The air was still warm like always in the summer. But, something about being out here alone and vulnerable with only a bandit that she may or may not have feelings for made Ella Cate shiver. She just had to get through this night.

“I’ll keep the first watch,” Ella Cate said. Someone had to watch for bandits or coyotes.

“No, Ella Cate,” Shiloh said. A shock ran through Ella Cate. She wished Shiloh would stop saying her name. She wished Shiloh would never stop saying her name. “You need sleep,” Shiloh said. “You never get enough.”

“Do you?” Ella Cate snorted. It seemed unlikely that Shiloh was any better at sleeping than she was.

Shiloh smiled. Sweet. Soft. A smile to melt Ella Cate’s heart. Ella Cate conceded and set up her bedroll. Stars twinkled in the night sky. Somewhere far away a coyote howled. The horses snorted. The fire crackled, throwing long shadows. For a long time, Ella Cate watched Shiloh. Bent toward the fire, carving markings into the ground with her knife. One braid over her shoulder, the other laying against her back. Every inch of Ella Cate wanted to go to her and pull her into an embrace.

She was still staring when Shiloh softly asked, “Are you still awake?”

Ella Cate considered not answering. “Yeah,” she said.

Shiloh stood and walked toward Ella Cate. She settled quietly beside her, sitting with her legs crossed like a pretzel. The fire gave her eyes a flickering orange glow and highlighted the faint scars on the skin not covered by cloth. Without meaning to, Ella Cate sat up and reached out to caress the small nick of a scar on Shiloh’s cheek. Shiloh flinched when Ella Cate’s finger touched her skin.

“I’m sorry,” Shiloh whispered.

“For what?”

“I wish we had met in a different life,” she said. “I wish I could be somebody you could…you could lo- cherish.” She paused and looked at Ella Cate with a faint smile. “I don’t look forward to tomorrow, but my life will be easier knowing I got to meet you. Someone truly good.”

The remaining strings holding Ella Cate back snapped. She scooched closer to Shiloh, giving herself up to the affection she felt. This was one night. One night in thousands. Deep down, Ella Cate knew if she denied her attraction, she’d regret it. So, she let go. Opened herself to the rush of tenderness and desire. Let herself fall. She could deal with the consequences later. Right now, only this moment mattered.

Ella Cate cupped Shiloh’s cheeks in her hands, tracing her cheekbones with her thumbs. One hand brushed lower, resting on Shiloh’s neck.

“Ella Cate,” Shiloh said softly. She put her hand over the hand on her cheek and turned her face to kiss Ella Cate’s fingers.

“Say that again,” Ella Cate said, voice scarcely more than a whisper.

“Ella Cate,” Shiloh said. She kissed Ella Cate’s wrist and forearm. Then, Ella Cate gently tilted her Shiloh’s chin, and they met halfway for a kiss.

This was the best and worst decision Ella Cate had ever made. She knew she’d cherish this moment forever. And her heart would ache every time she looked back. Calloused hands caressing her face. Chapped lips and the smell of the red earth. Fingers unbraiding her hair before twisting in her curls.

Shiloh touched Ella Cate’s breasts over her clothes. She reached for a button and then hesitated, glancing up to make sure this was okay. Ella Cate could stop this now. Stop before things went too far. She unbuttoned the top button and Shiloh unbuttoned the rest. Layers of clothing stripped off, tossed into one pile beside the bedroll. Only their trousers remained. Two women in trousers, kissing and touching each other. Oh, how people back east would balk.

Hands, calloused hands pushed Ella Cate gently back onto the bedroll. Shiloh sat with her knees on either side of Ella Cate’s hips and outlined the shape of her body with her fingertips. Admiring every of inch of Ella Cate, like she was a work of art. A painting with so many little details that no matter how long you looked, you’d keep finding more. She laid her palms flat against Ella Cate’s stomach and slid upward, rounding her hand to fit the shape of her breasts. She rubbed circles with her thumbs on the underside of Ella Cate’s breasts, then circled up to her areolas.

Ella Cate could’ve cried. It had been so long since she’d been touched like this. Too long. Too long since anyone had given her any kind of affectionate touch. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it.

“Ella Cate,” Shiloh said. She leaned down and peppered kisses on Ella Cate’s breasts, closed her lips around her nipples, fondled the soft skin. “Ella Cate, Ella Cate.” Her kisses moved to between Ella Cate’s breasts, against her collar bones, shoulders, neck.

The kisses stopped when she reached Ella Cate’s mouth. She hovered with her lips inches away. They touched noses and breathed each other’s air.

“Ella Cate,” Shiloh whispered, lips brushing against Ella Cate’s. A thrill ran through Ella Cate. A shiver like stepping into a warm bath on a cold day. Tingling in her fingers and toes. If the world ended right now, she’d die happy.

“Shiloh,” Ella Cate whispered back. “Shiloh.”

Their trousers joined the pile of clothes. There was nothing between them now. Skin against skin, warming each other with their body heat. Every scar and freckle visible. Shiloh’s fingers were on Ella Cate’s thighs, caressing the sensitive skin. If Ella Cate could have one wish, she’d wish for this night to last forever.

Shiloh adjusted and lay between Ella Cate’s thighs. Ella Cate gasped when Shiloh’s lips brushed against her. Warm breath. When Ella Cate looked down, those dark eyes were on her. The most beautiful brown eyes in the world. Eyes full of history and pain and warmth. Those eyes did something to her. She moaned before Shiloh’s tongue even touched her.

A coyote howled but for once it didn’t sound so lonely. Another howl. A coyote responding to the first. Not alone. Ella Cate gave her own cry to the moon, moaning as Shiloh’s tongue explored her. Not alone. Shiloh reached up and hooked her fingers through Ella Cate’s, palms touching.

“Shiloh,” Ella Cate gasped.

She didn’t hear Shiloh’s voice, but she felt her lips against her, mouthing ‘Ella Cate.’ Shiloh swirled her tongue against Ella Cate’s clit. Her breath tickled. When Ella Cate moaned, Shiloh moaned in response, lips vibrating.

Under the night sky, in the vastness of the west, Ella Cate came. Warmth flooded through her. The most pleasure she’d felt in years. Maybe the most pleasure she’d felt ever. Pleasure pooling from her lower abdomen, from her heart, overwhelming her brain. She squeezed Shiloh’s hands and Shiloh squeezed back. As Ella Cate gasped and cried Shiloh’s name, Shiloh kissed between her legs and kissed her thighs.

And then Shiloh was lying next to her, her arm across Ella Cate’s stomach. Ella Cate still wanted to cry. The world was cruel. Tomorrow morning the body beside her would be gone. The sun would come up. Ella Cate would go home. But, she wouldn’t try to pretend like this hadn’t happened. That would be a dishonor. This memory would be too important to push away. She’d let herself hurt and grieve about what could’ve been. Yearn for Shiloh. Remember those dark brown eyes with fondness.

The night was still young. It wasn’t tomorrow yet. There was more time to make memories and she’d be damned if she didn’t make the most of the night.

Ella Cate adjusted, pulling Shiloh onto the bedroll, off the ground. One leg between Shiloh’s, bodies pressed close together, Ella Cate stroked Shiloh’s inner thigh. She wouldn’t take her eyes off Shiloh’s. She wanted to see her brown eyes.

Shiloh put one hand on Ella Cate’s cheek, keeping her gaze on Ella Cate’s face. When Ella Cate touched between her legs, she gasped. She gyrated her hips forward, against Ella Cate’s hand. Maybe Shiloh needed this much as Ella Cate had. Two lost souls that finally found each other.

The desert land around them was more alive than ever. Soft whispers of wind. Lizards scurrying across the scraggy earth. Frogs croaking and chirping by the stream. Distant howls. The moon bathed the land in a silvery white, reflecting off the nearby stream. La lune. She watched over the young lovers, guiding them with her light in the dark night.

Ella Cate slid her finger inside Shiloh and she loved the feeling as much as Shiloh did. To be inside someone, to be so close, so intimate, was something Ella Cate hadn’t experienced in years. Listening to Shiloh’s desperate noises, Ella Cate decided that nothing about this was wrong. Loving a woman. Having a woman as a lover. Nothing about it was wrong. Here, in the dark night, their intimacy was just as natural as everything around them.

Shiloh whispered, “Sheriff Milligan. Ella Cate,” and looked deep into Ella Cate’s eyes. Ella Cate’s body tingled. Until her dying day, she knew she would never forget Shiloh’s dark brown eyes or the way Shiloh said her name.

Shiloh’s back arched as she came, a moan rolling from her lips. She was more beautiful than anything Ella Cate had ever seen. Eyes fell closed, muscles trembled. Dark hair pooled around her.

They rested in each other’s arms, fingers trailing across skin. Lips pressing against temples, cheeks, shoulders. When they’d rested for a while, the intimacy began again. They elicited moans from each other, explored each other’s bodies, loved each other like this was their last night on earth. Ella Cate would never be the same after this.

* * *

 

Dawn came too soon. For a couple hours they slept, but when the orange light of daybreak burst from the horizon, their time together was at an end. They watched the sunrise together, both wishing time would slow. Wishing that the sun would never come up.

Ella Cate’s throat tightened when Shiloh unwound her limbs from hers. She watched as Shiloh got dressed; she wanted to take every moment she could to look at Shiloh. This might be the last time she’d see her. The thought brought Ella Cate near tears.

Shiloh helped Ella Cate dress, though she didn’t need the help. But, she never would’ve refused the opportunity to feel Shiloh’s hands on her one more time.

“Ella Cate,” Shiloh said. She reached up and pressed her palms against Ella Cate’s cheeks.

“Shiloh,” Ella Cate whispered. Her voice broke on the last syllable.

“Don’t cry,” Shiloh said. “This isn’t goodbye forever.”

“This was the best night of my life,” she murmured, trying to hold back tears.

“Mine, too,” Shiloh smiled sadly. “But we’ll see each other again. We will.”

“Maybe you could write?” Ella Cate suggested. She just wanted to know Shiloh was alive.

“I can’t write. I don’t know how,” Shiloh said. “But I’ll try to send you something. You’ll see me again, Ella Cate.”

Their parting kiss was long and passionate. Unspoken words travelled over their tongues. Unspoken feelings passed across their lips. Ella Cate prayed that it would never end. But, of course, it had to.

Shiloh wiped her eyes and then pressed one last kiss to Ella Cate’s cheek. Ella Cate watched as Shiloh’s figure travelled through the canyon. Once, she turned back and waved. And then she disappeared behind a cliff face. For a long time after, Ella Cate watched. Maybe Shiloh would turn around. Come back to her.

The coolness of the night was baking away as the sun beat down. With a shaky sigh, Ella Cate tore her eyes away from the canyon and packed up her stuff. The process was slow. She didn’t want to get back to town. Only hardships awaited her there. She would draw out any task she could to stay away a minute longer.

When she finally set out, tears ran down her cheeks.


	5. Chapter 5

To Ella Cate’s surprise, she didn’t lose her job as sheriff, very much to the thanks of John. When it came time to admit that the Kerchief Bandit had escaped, John took the blame. Told everyone, including the U.S. Marshals that the bandit escaped on his watch. No protest from Ella Cate could stop him. In the privacy of the sheriff’s office, he insisted that there was no better sheriff than her.

The insistence was unexpected and touching. Ella Cate decided John wasn’t nearly as bad as she thought he was. He had a slow drawl and could be a lost puppy dog, but he had a good heart and he was willing to learn. Because of his youth, the lack of potential deputies, and John being a man, Ella Cate was sure he could keep his job as her right-hand-man. But, he didn’t want to.

“Ah’ve always wanted ta go out an’ make mah own way,” John said. “Ah’m gonna go be a gold miner. And when I get rich and fin’e my fortune, ah’ll be sure to send some gold your way.”

Ella Cate truly hoped John would find his fortune. If anyone deserved it, he did. Hard-working with a heart of gold. She wished she’d seen it sooner.

“Will yeh promise me one thing, Sheriff Milligan?” John asked.

She nodded. It was the least she could do after he took the blame.

“Consider my brother for deputy, will ya? He’d be much better at it than me. He’s alwa’s wan’ed to work in the law,” John said.

“I will, John,” Ella Cate said. “I promise.”

John grinned, “Ma’am, I think tha’s the firs’ time yeh’ve called me John ‘stead a’ deputy.” Ella Cate returned the smile.

Ella Cate thought of Shiloh often. As the months passed, she never forgot Shiloh’s eyes. She saw them in her dreams. Felt Shiloh’s lips on her in her dreams. She ached and grieved, but she remembered the bandit with fondness.

A year had passed, and John’s younger brother (by eleven months), William had been working as deputy for about three months when Ella Cate received a parcel. William dropped it on her desk along with a couple letters.

“Mail fer yah, ma’am,” William said.

William had John’s good qualities. Hard-working, genuine and kind, willing to learn. But, he was a faster learner, less hesitant and more passionate about the job. He had the same beanpole stature as her brother, but he seemed less awkward. Unfortunately, he was reckless and often impulsive. He and Ella Cate were working on that.

The parcel was small and soft. _Sheriff Ella Cate Milligan_ was scrawled on the package, along with the name of the town. Ella Cate tore off the paper and froze. She stood, knocking her chair over. William looked up in surprise.

“You okay, Sheriff?” William asked.

Ella Cate tried to speak, couldn’t, and cleared her throat. “I’m fine. Excuse me for a moment.”

Ella Cate ran up the stairs and disappeared into her room, clutching the package to her breast. After she settled on the bed, she examined the contents carefully.

Folded in the parcel was a wanted poster for the Kerchief Bandit. The same wanted poster design that Ella Cate had examined so long ago. Along with it, the navy kerchief Shiloh wore. With shaking hands, Ella Cate brought the cloth to her face and breathed in. It smelled like Shiloh. She had something of Shiloh’s. This must be a message. A message that Shiloh was alive. That she missed Ella Cate as much as Ella Cate missed her.

Ella Cate looked at the writing on the parcel. It was neat and practiced. Shiloh must’ve had someone write it for her. Ella Cate wished she could send a response, but there was no return address. Even if there was, Shiloh wouldn’t be there any longer.

Falling back on her bed, Ella Cate held the kerchief to her face. She knew, someday, she would see Shiloh again.

 

 


End file.
